Genuine Lies
by SandraK
Summary: Janeway and Paris are trying to escape from the Devore, but not if Inspector Kashyk has anything to say about it. JanewayKashyk pairing, Janeway & Paris friendship
1. Default Chapter

This is a Janeway and Paris story, with J/Ka, and shades of J/C and P/T. Be warned, this story is NC-17, and there is a scene of what could be termed non-consensual sex. If you're under 18, turn back now.

Janeway and Paris are trying to escape from Devore Space; Inspector Kashyk wants them for another purpose.

Genuine Lies

"We can't take much more of this!" Tom shouted over the roar of the alien weapons as he worked desperately to steer the Delta Flyer out of the path of fire. His blue eyes were hard, and his hands were strained and tense upon the console.

Janeway, sagging in her chair, her hair a mess around an ash-stained face, concentrated on firing the weapons, fighting off the fatigue she'd been holding in check for the last six hours of the on-and-off battle. Her gray eyes were tired, but her voice was still sharp.

"Hold on," she told him. "If I can just hit their weapons array, I may force a retreat!"

And suddenly the vessel jolted from something that did not feel like weapon's fire. Janeway and Paris watched in confusion as space distorted around them. In the distance, the alien vessel turned and retreated. Ahead of them, a colorful vortex whirled to life, seemingly from out of nowhere.

They stared at it, riveted. Paris glanced down at his console. "I'm reading neutrino emissions—that's a wormhole!"

A shot of hope sprang up in Janeway, the same excitement that accompanied every announcement of a newfound wormhole. Then, she reminded herself, _We have no idea where it leads._ Taking a cue from their attackers, Janeway eyed the spatial distortion warily and ordered, "Back us off, Tom." 

After a moment, Tom let out a frustrated grunt and flung his hands into the air. "That last shot took out our emergency thrusters. We can't steer."

With thrusters down and communications offline, Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris were only able to watch in dismay as the Delta Flyer slowly drifted into the entrance to the wormhole. Plumes of red and purple enveloped the shuttle, floating past the window, parting around the Flyer. Slowly, they faded away, leaving only the open space on the other side of the wormhole.

"Tom, where are we?" Janeway demanded, bolting upright in her chair and shooting an alarmed glance at the lieutenant.

Tom looked at the readings, and then did a double take. "We've been pulled almost 15,000 light years _backwards." _

She shot a glance at her own console, her scientist's mind running over the data. "That wormhole's not stable," she murmured. Then louder, "We've got to find a way to get back before--" The words were not out of her mouth before the vortex suddenly shrunk in upon itself, sending a shock wave through space. As the shaking subsided, Janeway was struck with the sickening realization that the wormhole had just jumped to another location. Possibly sectors away. Possibly galaxies away.

Neither spoke. They stared in dismay at the empty space where the wormhole had just been.

"Well, we're fucked," Tom announced, and leaned back into his seat with a labored sigh.

Janeway, usually the optimist, found herself speechless. She let her head thump back against the headrest, her mind whirling with the implications of this event.

"It will take fifteen years at _sustained warp nine_ to reach the ship," she murmured, wondering if this was some horrible dream. "My God, we'll probably never get back to the ship again, much less Earth!"

Tom glanced over at his downtrodden comrade. It took a great deal of effort for him to pull himself up and run a scan. After a few moments, the results came back. "And of all places to end up… we're back in Devore space," Tom complained, shaking his head as he checked the sensor readings.

"_Devore _space?" Janeway's head shot up.

"Yeah, the paranoid space Nazis, of all people." 

Her mind whirled. The Devore were a powerful race bent on destroying all telepaths. There was no love lost between Voyager and the Devore, especially after Janeway assisted a group of telepaths in their escape from the Devore Inspector, Kashyk. "We've got to get out of here," she told Paris, sitting up and promptly snapping back into command mode.

"Yeah, you're telling me."

"We'll worry about getting back to the ship later." Her sharp words roused him. "If the Devore find us here, they'll kill us. We won't have a chance to get back to Voyager. We need to get out of Devore space."

"I don't know how we're going to do it," Paris said as he looked over the readings. "Warp drive is offline, thrusters are down… we have no way of getting out of here or even beginning repairs to the damaged systems without spare parts." 

Janeway silently cursed the aliens whose attack had damaged the Flyer so. Her mind raced over options.

"What about the escape pods?"

Paris checked his console, and then shook his head. "They're all damaged—their hulls are breached." 

Janeway let out a breath. She couldn't think of anything. 

A console beeped. Paris checked the sensors and fell silent. 

"What is it?" Janeway demanded. Surely nothing could make this day more dreadful than it already was. At least she hoped.

Tom looked at her, lips twisted down in a grim line. "Two Devore patrol ships are headed this way. I don't know how they could have detected us so quickly, unless there's a sensor array nearby." He paused. "Orders, Captain?"

Janeway couldn't find anything to say. She looked down at the floor, wishing she had some idea floating around her mind. She hated disappointing a crewmember. She hated feeling so powerless.

Her eyes found Tom's blue ones, and she read the same helplessness. _Poor Tom, ripped away from B'Elanna…_ On impulse, Kathryn reached out and grasped his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't worry. Whatever happens, we'll get through this. Alive. And we'll find a way back home to Voyager."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Captain, but you really can't promise that," Tom replied lightly, giving her a sheepish smile to cover his own fears. 

"I can. And I am." There was steel in her voice.

As she turned to prepare for the arrival of the Devore ships, she felt it, too.

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"Gaharay vessel, you are not authorized to traverse this sector of space. Prepare to be boarded."

Janeway took a breath to steel herself. She stood, tense, behind her chair, staring expectantly at the transporter pad. Paris stood next to her, fists clenched at his sides. She could hear his breathing in the quiet atmosphere of the Delta Flyer.

The transporters came to life, and a quiet hum filled the air as six figures appeared, two by two. Dressed head to foot in black, large rifles in their gloved hands, they looked to Kathryn like the perfect representation of all that was evil in the Delta Quadrant.

_Well, except maybe the Borg…_

The Devore soldiers leveled their weapons on Janeway and Paris, but it wasn't until the seventh man, obviously the leader, appeared, that anyone spoke.

"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway of the—" Kathryn began, but the leader gestured for silence.

"I know your vessel. And your people were warned never to return to our space," the leader said gruffly.

"Yes, and we didn't intend to." She paused. "You see, we were under attack, and our engines were disabled. We were drawn into a wormhole which took us back here, and we had no way of returning before—"

_"Wormhole?" _

Kathryn didn't understand the sudden urgency in his voice at first, and then she suddenly recalled why Kashyk had infiltrated her ship—he'd been looking for the wormhole, the escape route of the telepaths.

"It's gone now," she said quickly. "It collapsed behind us."

His expression hardened. "I see."

Sensing that she was losing his attention, she put in quickly, "We'll get out of your space as soon as our engines are online. I promise you. We never intended—" 

"You have violated Codicil Six, subsection 3: _No Gaharay will traverse Devore territory without permission. _Your vessel will be seized, and you will be relocated to a detention center." He pointed his weapon at Janeway. "Come with us. Now."

Janeway and Paris exchanged glances. Then, reluctantly, they followed the Devore onto the transporter pad. As the transporter beam enveloped her, Janeway knew that the worst of it was yet to come.

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"Damn, I'm as sore as a mother—" Paris trailed off, shooting her a glance. 

Janeway looked over at him with a tired smile, somewhat touched he still had a concern about propriety. "Go ahead and swear. Whatever you can say, I've heard worse. Hell, I've been _called _worse."

They sat side-by-side on the dusty, yellow ground, clad in ragged blue work shirts and pants. Janeway's shirt was at least three sizes too big, and the pants had to be held up by a rope. In the last month, the shirt's excess material had been tangled numerous times in the machinery she was working with, or on the corner of some crate. The time from work she took to untangle it usually earned her a slap from the overseer. Paris's work clothes were in no better shape. His tunic was stained with red blood right across the torso. He'd joked grimly that someone had probably been killed in his shirt. Then they fell silent, realizing that somebody probably had.

Now they sat together, chewing at their rations in silence. Paris, who was eating less than usual, was looking thinner every day, with dark smudges under his eyes and a beard that failed to hide his hollow cheeks. Janeway, who was eating more than usual, looked pretty much the same, albeit dirtier with messier hair. She knew, though, that the two of them looked like a sorry lot, and not just due to the physical and psychological stresses of the work camp. They were both being worn down by hopelessness. Every night that passed, every sun that rose, spelled another day that they would not get back to the ship. And escape seemed impossible. The guards held the perimeter tightly, and any whispers of escape resulted in immediate execution. Prisoners would monitor one another and report to the Devore in exchange for more food, lighter work shifts, or better living quarters. Some would even go so far as to lie about another prisoner, merely for an extra scrap of bread.

The more Janeway got to know of this camp, the more satisfied she felt in her decision, all those years ago, to help those Brenari refugees. All those little children, all those gentle people, would be in a detention center just like this one, awaiting death. Both she and Paris were made of a tough fiber—they could withstand hardship, to a certain extent. She'd rather face the music herself than send fourteen innocent people to do it in her stead.

But Paris…

She glanced over at the lieutenant, hunched over his bread. He looked too thin, and his hair was growing long and wild. She realized that it might reach his chin by the end of the next month. The beard and moustache made him look much older than his thirty-five years. And what had happened to that lively sparkle in his eyes?

She blinked slowly, and wondered why it had taken her so long to notice its absence. Had she been so wrapped up in her own misery that she failed to notice it in her comrade? They'd been making jokes with each other the whole time, digging to find the humor in the situation. They hadn't had a real conversation in ages. The only times of the day she saw him were at mid-afternoon break, the only meal they had, and late at night, when they were usually too exhausted to pay attention to one another. 

She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, and he stiffened beneath her touch. She withdrew her hand quickly.

"Tom, are you all right?" she asked him quietly.

He smiled, his beard crinkling up. "I'm doing fine, captain. Just lost in thought."

He turned away from her, but she continued to watch him worriedly.

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Paris thought his chest was going to explode.

He shot an angry look at the Devore guards, wondering why they always demanded the prisoners dig these giant trenches around the camp. With their weapons, they could carve out a ditch around the camp in mere seconds. Instead, they insisted on week after week of prisoner labor, digging the trenches out with crude shovels.

_They're just trying to keep us occupied. Or kill us. _

Each day, a Devore soldier would mark off a certain length and width, and specify a certain depth. The prisoners were not allowed to sleep at night until a trench that size had been carved out of the ground. With no wheelbarrows, and mere shovels at their disposal, it was a harder task than Tom ever could have imagined.

The trenches were there for the Devore to install specialized equipment, equipment designed to impair the abilities of telepaths. There was supposedly a perimeter even farther out, but the Commandant had insisted on one closer to the camp.

As Paris dug, he felt a pair of eyes on him; he shuddered and concentrated on his work. His hands tightened around the shovel until they were white.

A month ago, around the time they first arrived, Morusk, a burly Devore imprisoned for actual crimes rather than a genetic predisposition for telepathy, had started following him, calling him "pretty boy," taking any chance to shove up against Paris, to injure Paris, to insult Paris. Paris would have challenged him, but the gang of men around Morusk put that idea out of his head.

One night, he was roughly shaken awake. Morusk towered above him, his gang off behind him, and tried to force himself upon Tom. Tom fought the other man off, delivering a swift kick to the ribs that doubled the bigger man over. A few of Morusk's men started forward, but Morusk gestured them back. Paris steeled himself for another attack, but Morusk instead shot a savage glance at Janeway, dropped dead off asleep not far from them.

"She has the same work shift as Krendel," Morusk snarled, gesturing to one of his men. Paris shot a glance at Krendel, and the leer on his face told him everything. He looked back at Morusk.

His voice shook with anger. "You won't touch her."

Morusk looked at Paris steadily. Paris felt sick. 

He looked over Krendel. He had to weigh 250 pounds. She wouldn't have a chance.

There was no way he'd let that happen to her.

He knew what he had to do.

He was sick for days afterwards. At Janeway's queries, he replied briefly that it was something he ate. She accepted that; she didn't notice his hands trembling.

Morusk demanded him a few times after that, but it grew less frequent as time passed.

Paris was relieved when he felt the eyes slip away from him.

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"What do you miss the most?" she asked blearily. Her voice was slurred with exhaustion. He glanced over. He could only see her prone silhouette, black against the ground. He must have woken her when he lay down next to her.

"B'Elanna. Harry. The helm. The holodeck. Needling Tuvok. My TV." He paused, and then added with a chuckle, "Even Neelix's cooking." He paused thoughtfully. "I guess hell _has_ frozen over."

He heard her quiet, husky laughter. He stared up at the night sky, at the swirls of alien stars. "And you?"

There was silence a few moments, then she said, "Coffee."

"Of course," Paris said, feeling himself grin.

She added more quietly, "Voyager. Standing on the bridge. My chair. The crew. Harry, B'Elanna, Neelix, even the Doctor… Seven and Tuvok." She paused, then added softly, "Chakotay."

He didn't realize he'd reached out to grasp her hand until he felt its warmth in his own.

"We'll get back there," he said quietly.

Her voice sounded muffled. "Is that a promise?"

He smiled. "It's your promise."

She was quiet a moment. "Of course."

"And I still believe you."

She paused. Then, in a strained voice, "I just wish I did."

They both felt cold as they waited for sleep to claim them.

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Her eyes snapped open as the foot slammed into her ribs. _It can't be dawn yet…I just fell asleep. _She looked up to see the dark shape of a Devore soldier against the purple sky of early morning.

"Get up," he commanded simply.

With a low moan, Janeway disentangled herself from Paris, against whom she must have snuggled for warmth, and rose to her feet. The Devore reached out and grasped her arm, then yanked her with him across the desert floor.

He maneuvered her past the sleeping bodies of her fellow prisoners, and shoved her into one of the guard centers.

After he led her to a room with a tub of water, he commanded, "Clean up."

She stared at him. "What? Why?"

He leveled the gun at her. "Sanitation. You smell of shit. Do it now."

She hesitated only a second before turning her back on him and reluctantly removing her clothes. The prospect of a bath, even with him watching, was somewhat appealing after a long month. Then she put her foot in the tub and felt ice-cold water. She glanced back at the Devore, and the jerk of his weapon towards her head forced her to plop down into the tub.

She worked quickly, scrubbing herself, wincing when she encountered a cut or a bruise previously hidden beneath the caked dirt. She also dunked her head in, and worked the dirt out of her hair. When she told him she was finished, he grasped her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She felt slightly embarrassed as he pointedly inspected her, and then sniffed at her.

"Satisfactory," he said. He handed her a clean work shirt and pants, and she put them on quickly. When she was finished, he gestured with his weapon and escorted her to another room. "Wait here."

She stood there for a few minutes, still shivering from the cold water of the bath. There was nowhere to sit. The room was very Spartan, except for a low, shiny table that seemed to have a console of some kind imbedded into it. The floor was cold against her feet, so she alternated first her weight on one foot, then the other. She began to wonder just what she was waiting for when a familiar voice said from the doorway, "Good morning, Captain. So good to see you again." 

She felt herself go cold. She'd recognize that voice if she lived a thousand years.

Kathryn turned around slowly to come face-to-face with Inspector Kashyk. He closed the door behind him and turned to her. His eyes were midnight black, and a faint smile shadowed his lips. His black hair was still in the same crisp, military cut, and the familiar black uniform seemed somehow tailored to him.

"I wish I could say the same," she said quietly, over the heart thumping in her chest. "What do you want from me, Inspector?"

He smiled, and she wasn't sure whether it made her stomach flutter from nausea or from… something else. "I assure you, my purposes here are not sinister."

She crossed her arms. "Fine then. Petty. Did you come here to gloat?"

He shot her a mock look of horror. "Captain, you have such a low opinion of me! On the contrary, my intentions are quite good. You can't imagine the sheer delight I felt when I heard of your return." His voice dropped. "It must be fate."

Kathryn's smile radiated contempt. "Yes. Some higher power must be intent on punishing me. How else could I have the misfortune to _encounte_r you twice?"

After a pause, Kashyk let out an unpleasant laugh. "Indeed, how could you?" He closed in on her, eyes narrowing, his whole body language growing predatory. "You don't realize the regret I felt the first time I let you slip away." She could feel his breath on her skin. "But I won't make the same mistake twice." His finger snaked up, and lightly brushed her cheek. "You look different. Perhaps the hair?" A pause. "Look at me."

She raised her eyes to meet his dark ones, and immediately knew it had been a mistake. His black eyes burned with intense… what? A shudder ran through her, and only her pride kept her from retreating a step under his gaze. He'd only stood this close to her one time…

Her eyes involuntarily fell to his lips, her thoughts returning to those last few moments in the cargo bay, before he left to betray her, when he pressed those lips to hers. He'd stolen her breath away.

His lips curled into a slight smile, and she realized he knew exactly what she was thinking. Her cheeks burned—not in modesty, but in anger. She was angry he'd assume she'd fall into his arms after what he had done. She was angry he'd think she might harbor some lingering feelings for him now that she knew him for the true monster he was.

He'd nearly imprisoned her crew in a relocation center. He'd nearly taken her ship from her. He'd killed and imprisoned thousands of innocents and felt absolutely no remorse. And now? What did he want now?

Ah, but she knew. What did any man with that look in his eyes want? He thought he could intimidate her with it, but he was wrong. She knew what he wanted, and she knew how to use it against him.

Her eyes narrowed, her emotions cooling. The field shifted. The eye contact was now working to her advantage, not his. The game was now in her hands. His emotions would be a detriment to him, she would make sure of it. He would find every one of his blows, every one of his attacks, twisted to draw his own blood, not hers. He would not win. Not this time. Not ever. She had defeated him once at his game of deception. Now, she would defeat him again.

She looked down a moment, then let her eyes drift back up to meet his. They gleamed with a strange light that momentarily disconcerted him. "What do you _want_, Inspector?" She drawled, her voice low. 

Her implication was clear. Kashyk's eyes fell down to her lips, then to her body, and his face was shadowed with a slight smile. "Purely your respect and friendship, of course."

She stepped infinitely closer to him, her eyes boring into his. "I don't have the patience for your games, Inspector. I have a lot of work to do, and if you just called me here for your puerile amusement—"

Without warning, he stepped forward and grasped her, pulling her to him, and mashed his lips against hers. His kiss was hard and bruising, and his fingers hurt where they dug into her arms. She jerked instinctively against his grip, all the while aware that this had been her plan, though at the moment, she couldn't understand the sense in that plan.

His tongue snaked into her mouth, an intruder, and found hers, forcing it into battle. She opened her eyes to see his face pressed up to hers, and felt an urge to clamp her teeth down upon his tongue, just to see the look of pain across his cocky face. She fought back the urge.

She felt his kisses move to her neck, and his hands slip down to pull off her work shirt. When he pulled it up over her head, and the cool air met her skin, she suddenly began to second-guess herself. _This is wrong. This has gone too far. I should stop this. _

When the shirt hit the floor, she realized that she was not alarmed, not fearful. Her logical mind told her she should feel doubt; she should feel the wrongness of this. Yet, when it came down to it, it was just sex, and it would help her later; she'd see to it.

"Lie down," he whispered in her ear when the last of her clothes were discarded on the floor. He was still fully dressed.

She stepped back away from him, remarkably poised, strangely disaffected, considering her vulnerability. He took a step towards her, but she coolly raised her hand to give him pause. He stopped, and she came forward. Without a word, she methodically began to take off his clothes. He watched her expressionless face, trying to figure out her game. She got his shirt off, but he grabbed her wrists to stop her as soon as her hands came to the fasteners of his pants. He wouldn't surrender control of the situation. He was determined to keep her off balance.

"No," he told her with a smile, and then propelled her backwards with a hard shove.

Kathryn slammed to the floor, breaking through the nearby table. The breath was forced out of her, and sheer shock and pain blinded her for a moment. And suddenly, his hands were on her hips, pulling her away from the remains of the table and jerking her onto her stomach. Before she had time to recover, he was pressing at her. She clawed at the ground, wriggling her torso, trying to restore some semblance of control over the situation. With a jerk, he entered her, and the pain momentarily halted her struggle. She let out a jagged cry, unable to help herself.

He seemed to take sudden sympathy, and held still long enough for her to adjust to his entry. Then, slowly, he began to draw in and out. Kathryn, accepting that the situation had momentarily slipped out of her control, folded her arms beneath her to support her weight. This would happen… she had initiated it herself. Now, she had to go along with it and try to get back on top. 

He moaned above her, as his hands slipped up from their firm grip on her hips to roughly fondle her breasts, then up to her shoulders. He pressed down on her shoulders, causing her arms to buckle beneath the weight, and forcing her face to the ground. She tried to readjust, but her arms were pinned beneath their combined weight. Helpless now, she could only wait beneath him until his final moan.

He sagged on top of her when he was done, still inside her. Impatient, she tried to move.

He pulled out of her slowly, but it still hurt. When he was out, he grasped her by the arms and rolled her over. He held her arms to the ground beside her and studied her body. His eyes raked first over her face, then down, lingering at her breasts. Kathryn grew uncomfortable under his scrutiny and started to wriggle from his grasp. A knowing smile came over his face.

"Ah, Kathryn, I know what you want."

He crawled backwards, and grasped her legs, parting them.

"Oh, no—" Kathryn protested, grasping a handful of his hair to stop him, but stopped when she felt the shock of his mouth descending upon her sex.

This was too much. She stared thoughtfully at her hands, entwined in his hair. She was tempted to dig her fingers into his eyes, but hesitated, uncertain what would happen at this point if she angered him. So she left her hands in his hair as he licked at her, and grew embarrassed when her body began to respond. Heat built up between her legs, a delightful tingling. No, this was definitely too much.

"Okay, that's enough--" she didn't get the words out before she came, her hips jerking against him, pulling up into the air. The pleasure lasted a few moments, then faded, leaving only humiliation.

He stood up and wiped his lips. She tried to stand, but was taken aback by the pain, and stumbled to the floor. He must have broken something when he threw her through the table. She clutched at her ribs, her features twisted into a grimace. He looked over at her, and for a moment, his expression softened, as though he regretted injuring her. Then, feeling her gaze, it went blank. He turned away and dressed, ignoring her, then looked back to find her still lying on the floor.

"I came here with some business to discuss with you," he said, his tone very professional. "Obviously, I'll have to send someone to help you with your injuries first. But rest assured, I will be back," he told her, and began to leave. Then, on second thought, he turned and picked up her work clothes. Kathryn silently thanked him, thinking that he would bring them over to her. Instead, he dumped them on the far side of the room as he approached the door.

He looked at her one last time, and then said, "Have a nice day, Captain."

He was out the door before she could scream at him.

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After all he'd already done, who could she expect him to send but her own crewman?

As Paris was led into the door, he was saying, "Captain, I heard you were—" He faded off in shock when he saw the state she was in. "Captain!"

The Devore disappeared out the door, and she held up a hand to ward off his concern. "Don't worry. I'm fine. It was consensual," she looked at the broken table, and added beneath her breath, "Somewhat."

Still horrified, he gingerly grasped her by the arms and helped her into a sitting position. His eyes met hers, concerned, then he looked down at the med kit he was given. "The Devore have crude medical technology, but what can you really expect? I asked them to let me use the med kit from the Flyer, but…" he shrugged as he pulled out what appeared to be a dermal regenerator and began working on her. He looked up at her again, and she read something other than concern in his eyes, and felt herself turn red.

"Tom, you know I'd never just arbitrarily—" she sputtered.

"I know," he cut her off, not meeting her eyes. "You had a reason. I know. I understand perfectly." There was something in his voice that made her reach out and take him by the chin, lifting his head up to meet her eyes.

"Tom?" she asked softly, suddenly concerned.

"I'm fine." He suddenly became aware of himself, and lightly shook her hand off. "Uh, I'll just get your clothes, okay?"

Kathryn nodded, suddenly embarrassed again, and folded her arms across her breasts. "Thank you."

When he brought them back, he helped her pull them on, then pressed her onto the ground and raised her shirt again to work on her ribs. Kathryn looked up at the ceiling, and felt her eyes suddenly sting with tears. She raised her hand to wipe at them, wondering why she suddenly felt like weeping. She felt fine… it wasn't like she was raped… and she hadn't felt the need to cry since their imprisonment…

Tom's fingers pressed against her broken ribs. She winced sharply.

"Sorry," he murmured, and slowly continued to probe. Her eyes welled up again, with gratitude. He had such gentle hands. So caring. B'Elanna must have—she checked that line of thought. That was not speculation for a captain. 

_A captain without a ship. _

"He said he has business," she said to Tom.

"Who?"

"Inspector Kashyk."

_"He's here?" _Tom exclaimed. She nodded. In an angry voice, he demanded, "And is he the one who did this to you?"

"It was a game, Tom."

"A game?" 

"I can't explain it." She rolled her head away from him. "Please don't ask me to."

After a few moments of reluctance, he conceded with a slow nod. "I don't understand it… but I guess we all have our demons."

She looked at him, considering his words thoughtfully.

"And you?" she asked quietly.

"I have my share."

"Is there anything I can do, Tom?" she asked him intently.

His eyes met hers, and with a faint smile, he shook his head.

She looked back up at the ceiling, letting him knit her ribs in silence.

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	2. Part II

Genuine Lies

"Feeling better?" Kashyk inquired when he entered the room a few hours later.

Paris had been allowed to wash up, and now he, too, sat in a newer, bloodstain-less tunic. Janeway didn't answer Kashyk, not trusting herself to remain reasonable.

Kashyk added, "You shouldn't be so cross, Kathryn. Don't tell me you've never had it rough before."

The amusement in his voice riled her. Janeway shot him a look of loathing. "No one's ever_ needed_ to have it rough."

Kashyk merely smiled. 

He studied the two prisoners, and then gestured them to follow him.

"Come with me."

They followed him, and he sometimes slowed to allow them to walk in front of them. He'd size them up, especially Paris. Janeway briefly considered trying something, then realized that the Devore weren't foolish enough to leave a prized inspector on his own with two prisoners. There were soldiers lurking around the corridors, silently standing at attention in places not immediately visible, ready for any stirring of violence.

Kashyk led them into a room similar to Janeway's ready room, with a giant desk, and two chairs in front, one of which appeared to have been hastily pulled there. Janeway suddenly understood why Kashyk had been so fond of sitting behind her desk. It appeared that the chair on the other side of the desk was slightly elevated, so as to give a height advantage to the person seated there. Perhaps it was a standard Devore design.

Kashyk gestured for them to sit down, and then took his own seat.

"As you know from our previous_ encounter," _he glanced at Janeway to gauge her reaction from his choice of wording, "The Devore Imperium places high priority on the search for the wormhole." 

"We remember," Paris said in a frosty voice, shooting a glance at Janeway.

"We won't help you," Janeway cut in, anticipating his request.

Kashyk raised an eyebrow. "Are you so sure?" He rose to his feet. "Last time, you were under no incentive. You had nothing to gain. This time, though," he looked over at them, "I am prepared to offer you freedom and safe passage back through the wormhole in exchange for your help finding it." 

Janeway had already opened her mouth to reject his offer, but his words gave her pause. Her voice froze in her throat. This could be their only chance of getting back to Voyager. Then she thought, _How could I possibly do that, condemn thousands of telepaths to their deaths because I helped the Devore Imperium destroy the wormhole that would have saved them? Could I ever live with myself if I did that? We'd be back on the ship, but the cost…_

Kashyk read her hesitation, and it prompted a slight smile from him. "If you're wrestling with your ethics, Captain, imagine how the soldiers will react if you reject my offer. They won't be pleased." His gaze slinked over to Paris. "And your unfortunate crewman, stuck here in a detention center, away from those he cares about, the life he enjoyed. He'd hate you for it."

"You leave me out of this, Kashyk!" Paris snapped, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. She could tell from the strange distance in his eyes that he wasn't entirely dismissing Kashyk's offer.

And neither was she.

She looked over at Paris, wondering, _Could I really ask him to be stuck here with me because of my beliefs? I already did that to him, to all of them, once before, with the Caretaker. Am I prepared to do it again? How could I do that to him? He loves B'Elanna; he has so much going for him. And the crew, how could they cope with losing both their captain and best helmsman? _She recalled many battles where Paris's quick piloting skills were the decisive element. She could remember her solemn pledge to the crew that she would get them home. How could she ask this of him, of them? 

Kashyk had circled behind her seat, and leaned forward to whisper in her ear, in a voice that chilled her, the familiar words, "You have no choice, Captain. I'm your only hope." The hair rose on the back of her neck.

_It's a no-win scenario. Either way we lose, _she thought. But then her mind drifted back to the quote of the legendary James T. Kirk: "I don't believe in a no-win scenario."

And neither did she.

Janeway looked back to meet his eyes, and as she gazed at him, she realized that Kashyk was as fallible as the next person. She had defeated him once, and she could do it again. She didn't have sex with him earlier for nothing. She smiled at him, with genuine emotion, because she knew that, somehow, she and Paris would get back to Voyager. Somehow. And Kashyk would be the key.

He seemed satisfied to see her smile, and inquired, "So, I take it we see eye-to-eye?" 

"That's right," she said quietly, feeling Paris start next to her.

Kashyk's smile was one of relief, and sudden affection. She wasn't sure if it was a result of her agreement, or her change in disposition. In any case, he reached out a hand to touch her cheek. "Would you care to discuss some of the details with me later?"

She returned his smile. "Only if there are no tables in the room."

There was a strange tenderness in his eyes, as well as regret. "None. I give my word."

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As soon as he left, Paris turned on her. "You're not seriously considering this, are you?"

She looked startled. "Tom?"

"It's not like you. You're under duress," he continued. "I know you, and you'd never even _consider _this—destroying the only means those telepaths have to escape."

She hadn't realized he was protesting on behalf of the telepaths. When she did, her eyes stung again, she was suddenly so proud of him. _He's come so far from that convict six years ago. _He was willing to remain in this prison camp for the sake of others. He had become an extraordinary person.

"So what is this about?" he demanded, interrupting her train of thought.

"Exactly what you think it's about," Janeway replied evenly, while making an entirely different gesture with her hands. She pointed to the ceiling, and then cupped her ear. He didn't understand and first, and then he finally caught on.

Bugged. This office was probably bugged.

He fell silent, unsure whether or not to continue his line of protest. She nodded for him to go on, though, so he continued, making an effort to sound like he still meant it.

"So you're going to help him find the wormhole. You're going to assist him."

She shook her head as she replied, "Of course I am. It's our only way home, Tom. How else can we cover 15,000 light years so quickly? And we won't be out of here anytime soon. And besides," she hesitated. "I think Kashyk is a man of his word."

Tom grinned wildly, like he was trying not to laugh out loud. "I think you're just blinded by your infatuation for him." He glanced at her questioningly, and she nodded her consent for this line of conversation.

"You're out of line, Lieutenant."

"Am I? I don't think so. I think he's influencing your judgment, Captain. After all, your little infatuation almost cost us the ship last time. Why would now be any different?" he stopped when the look on her face told him he'd actually struck a nerve.

"Is that really what you think?" she whispered, and he realized this wasn't part of the act.

"Yes, it's what we all think," he replied harshly, fervently shaking his head no.

She got his message, and they fell into silence. She dropped back onto the chair behind her, strangely shaken.

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Kashyk was gentle with her that night, almost loving. When he finished, she rested next to him on the bed in his spacious cabin. It was her first time in a bed in… God knows how long. If she could close her eyes, and pretend the warm body next to her was someone other than a xenophobic murderer, then it was almost pleasant lying in the bed with his arm wrapped around her.

"That Lieutenant Paris of yours… he's a real firebrand, isn't he?" Kashyk inquired. 

_Firebrand? _

"That wouldn't exactly be my choice of words," she replied carefully, sending a suspicious glance in his direction. It dawned on her that Kashyk was basing his theory on the passionate protest he must have heard… assuming his office had been bugged.

Kashyk confirmed her suspicion with, "I get the feeling he doesn't share our views about this partnership."

She rolled onto her stomach, burying her head into the pillow, forcing him to reposition his arm. "Maybe, but he'll follow my orders."

"Hmm… Maybe."

She turned her head to look at him. "A question for you, Inspector. What was that earlier today?"

He glanced over at her. "Hmm?"

She fought down irritation. "According to Tom, you fractured two of my ribs and my collar bone." She poked him in the torso, hard enough to make him wince. "That's not my idea of tender, loving care."

He blinked, suddenly uncomfortable. He rolled onto his back.

"Gaharay women often use sex to their own purposes… they play a game. If it is a game they're playing, I make sure they don't enjoy it."

"And what makes you think I'm not playing a game with you now, Inspector?" she quipped. He glanced over at her, his face open and frank.

"I can't say you aren't." He looked back up at the ceiling. "But I'll take the risk. Besides, I usually follow my… instincts." He looked pointedly at her.

_Liar. _She smiled.

"_I think Kashyk is a man of his word."_

"I think you're just blinded by your infatuation with him." 

It was easy to have instincts when you were eavesdropping. She just was thankful there was no video feed. She'd been worrying about that since Paris had been taken back to the camp for nightfall.

Letting out a deep breath, Kashyk hooked his arm back around her and pulled her to him. He began to nibble at her ear. "In any case, I think I let you off relatively easy."

"And why is that?" Janeway asked coyly.

"I at least gave you some pleasure in return for mine. Most Gaharay don't receive that favor."

"I didn't want it," she snorted. "It was bad enough as it was." 

He smiled sensuously. "That wasn't your reaction, as I recall."

Kathryn grew embarrassed and then flustered, remembering her body's reaction.

"Well, I won't let that happen again," she told him, her voice ringing with a challenge. _What the hell am I doing?_ She wondered.

He took up the gauntlet. "We'll see about that."

He made love to her again, this time waiting for her climax before allowing his own. She fought hers off, but it came against her will. Later, when she was almost asleep, she told herself that she'd been pretending Kashyk was Chakotay, which she really had been doing, at first. But the image of Chakotay stretched above her had quickly been replaced by the very real Kashyk.

And as she drifted off, the warm satisfaction she felt had nothing to do with her first officer.

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Kathryn Janeway and Tom Paris were relocated again, to Kashyk's ship. During the day, Janeway and Paris poured over schematics of the wormhole's previous locations, while Kathryn tried her best to figure out the next location. At night, Kashyk had her. Tom would sleep in his own quarters elsewhere on the ship. Always, after Kashyk was long asleep, Kathryn would lie awake in her bed, wondering how she and Paris could get to the wormhole without leading to its destruction.

They managed to regain possession of the Delta Flyer, now fully repaired, when she and Tom attested to the effectiveness of its sensors, claiming that they couldn't understand how Devore technology worked, and they required the Flyer to locate the wormhole. The Devore soldiers flatly refused to grant them access until Kathryn appealed to Kashyk's "common sense" one night in bed. Smitten, Kashyk saw the logic in her argument and granted them access.

Working together closely on the Delta Flyer, Tom said to her quietly one morning, "I'm sorry you have to do this."

"What?" Kathryn looked up from her work. 

Tom's eyes hardened, and he glared towards the soldiers who were out of earshot. "I know it's hard on you, being with_ him_ every night."

Kathryn blinked. "Well, I appreciate the thought, Tom. I can take it a bit longer, though." As she thought about it, she realized she didn't mind it all that much. Kashyk could be charming company when they weren't both worrying about their own agendas. He was also the best lover she could remember. _When I forget what a monster he is, of course_, she reminded herself firmly.

As she broke out of her train of thought, she realized Paris's eyes were still on her, a fervent look in them. He reached out and grasped her hand in his, darting a brief, precautionary glance at the distant guards, and then whispered urgently, "If you want me to kill him when this is over, I will." 

"I don't think the Devore would take too kindly to—" she stopped.

She was startled by the intense anger she saw in his eyes.

She began, "Tom—"

"We're closer than we were when this began; you're like a sister to me." He paused. "And I understand what you must be feeling. _I know." _

She could feel him trembling with emotion. She was suddenly worried about him. Very worried. She reached up to touch his cheek. "Tom, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I—" he looked away. He looked more desolate than she'd ever seen him. 

"Talk to me, please! Whatever it is… I'm here for you, you know that," she whispered. "You haven't been yourself for a while now. Please, tell me what's wrong."

His hand came up and wrapped around hers. "It's not… not…" he seemed bereft of words to describe the horror in his eyes.

"Not advisable to fuck your captor's woman?"

The harsh voice behind them startled them both. Janeway and Paris spun around to see Kashyk staring down at them, his eyes flashing with rage.

"It's not what you think," Janeway said quickly, releasing Paris, feeling him do the same.

"And what do I think it is?" Kashyk asked, his lips twisting into a cynical smile below his hard eyes. 

"What does it matter what he thinks it is?" Paris practically spat as he swept to his feet. "This bastard has no claim on you. Just because you can make her fuck you doesn't mean—" 

"Tom!" Janeway said sharply, rising up, hiding her urgency behind anger.

Kashyk turned on her. "He's right about one thing, I have no claim on you, nor do I care to have one. You can fuck whomever you like, it's not my concern, but not while I have you! I won't take leftovers!" He spun to Paris. "And_ you, _you're out of this. You're going to the brig, and then to the nearest detention center."

He gestured with a harsh flick of his hand for the guards to take Paris away.

No. No no no. Kathryn rushed forward and grabbed Kashyk's arm. "It's not what you think, he's just overreacting—"

Kashyk spun on her, and the look in his eyes froze her blood. He grabbed her arm in a bone-crushing grip, and hauled her behind him out of the cargo bay. She had to run to keep up with him as he charged through the corridor. He pulled her into his quarters and threw her down onto the ground.

Was he going to become violent again? She wondered. It made her almost reluctant to stand up, but never one to cower, she did so anyway. He was pacing back and forth, furious. _This is ridiculous. _And to have him this mad over something she didn't even do! If he had discovered her scheming, then maybe she could understand, but this?

She grew suddenly very angry.

"You bastard. You absolute bastard!" She picked up a small statue from a nearby table and threw it at him. He ducked at the last minute, and it shattered on the wall behind him. He charged towards her, and was in front of her in a matter of moments. She raised her fist and clubbed him across the jaw. He stumbled back, but was pressing in on her again in a few seconds. She pounded her fists against his chest. He was too close to punch again. It was like hitting a rock wall. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and pinned her back against the wall. 

"I hate you!" she hissed, fighting him like a wild animal.

And then, in a burst of anger, he pressed his lips to hers, hard, furious, bruising. In that instant, it was like something took over her mind. She returned the kiss with equal force, and wriggled her hands free to claw at his back. They stumbled back towards the bed, alternating between kissing each other, biting each other, fighting each other; it was all a haze. She was blinded by rage; she wanted to tear him to pieces. She wanted him more than anything in her life.

They lay intertwined afterwards, trying to catch their breath. She sat up and glared down at him. "He's a brother to me. It would practically be incestuous."

Kashyk, breathing heavily still, growled, "If I'm convinced, after I talk to him, I'll let him work again." His eyes narrowed. "But I don't want to see you… cuddling with him again."

He lay back on the pillow. She watched him carefully. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

"I explained my reasons."

"Not well enough," she muttered.

His eyes raked her face. "Why does _this_ matter so much to you?"

She scoffed. "Don't make me ill." She jerked away from him, and settled down on the far side of the bed.

The conversation left them both unsettled.

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A few days later, Kathryn and Tom located where and when the wormhole would next appear. They didn't report it to the Devore immediately while they figured out their plan. After scanning that sector of space, Janeway located a spatial body that could pass for a wormhole if the sensors were tampered with. They could lead the Devore to that distortion, leave in the Delta Flyer, transmit the false sensor readings, and then change course for the real wormhole at the critical moment, reaching it before the Devore had a chance to stop them. They would set a timed shutdown of the Devore engines, so by the time Kashyk's ship reached the real wormhole, it would have vanished.

"Kashyk's no fool; he might suspect something," Janeway told Paris. "We need to make these… alterations gradually, with the utmost discretion."

"Got it," Paris said.

He worked on the engines, she on the sensors. By the time the Devore ship reached the designated sector, they were ready.

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"This is our last night, you know," Kathryn murmured as she lay against Kashyk's bare chest in his cabin.

Kashyk smiled. "Yes, it seems it is." He reached a finger down and tickled her jaw. "Who knows, I may just decide to keep you."

She guffawed. "Try it and you'll regret it dearly."

He smiled. "Well, perhaps then, something will go wrong, and we'll have to wait for the next opening."

"That's better," she murmured, "But still no cigar." She lay her head down against his skin, feeling his heart thump against her cheek. "As charming as you can be, Inspector, I'm looking forward to returning to my ship." She looked up at him. "And I told you I wouldn't transmit the coordinates until the Flyer was ready to enter the wormhole, so don't even think about destroying it before I get there."

He waved her off. "Of course, of course. I certainly won't renege on our agreement." A pause. "I leave that to others."

She glanced up at him curiously, and he claimed her mouth in his. Pushing any worries or thoughts of tomorrow into the back of her mind, she appreciated what the rest of the night had to offer.

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She stared at the Delta Flyer as it sat solitary in the shuttle bay, trying to ignore Kashyk at her side. Paris entered the Flyer, a bounce in his step, and Kashyk turned to dismiss the guards.

"Well, I'd better be going," she said. She started for the Flyer, but stopped. She turned back to face Kashyk, and suddenly understood the dilemma he must have faced on Voyager, leaving her in the cargo bay, even as he planned to betray her.

"Best of luck to you," Kashyk said. She realized he was waiting for her move.

There was an awkward pause. _Oh, to hell with it_, Janeway thought, and she swept forward. He opened his arms to receive her, and their lips met halfway. Janeway closed her eyes, relishing her last moments with him before he became an enemy again. They lingered in the embrace a few moments, and then she stepped away. With one last look of longing and regret, she turned away from him and started for the Delta Flyer. 

She didn't look back.

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"Ready to roll?" Paris asked flippantly, grinning at her as she took her seat next to him.

"Whenever you are!" Janeway replied jovially, determined to remain up. By the end of this day, she'd either be safe on Voyager, with the wormhole safely intact, or she and Paris would be back under guard, and thousands of telepaths would be condemned to die.

She gulped. It wasn't a pretty possibility.

The Delta Flyer slid out of the warship's cargo bay and headed towards the gravity fissure. Janeway prepared to transmit the coordinates of the gravity fissure to the Devore vessel, and tamper with the readings to make it appear like a wormhole. But suddenly, the console beeped.

"Tom?"

"It's their warp engine…" Paris reported. "We must have been late taking off… the sabotage subroutine has kicked in." He looked up. "And they're arming their weapons."

"They must realize we did it. Well, it's not like we need to stall, so there's no point in these sensor readings. Mr. Paris, get us out of here. Set a course for the wormhole. Warp nine. Engage."

As the Delta Flyer jumped to warp, Janeway smugly imagined the confusion and panic on the Devore warship when they found they couldn't move.

So it took her by surprise when Tom did a double take of his console. 

"Captain, they're pursuing us!" Tom shouted.

"What?" Kathryn demanded, looking over at his console. "I thought you disabled their warp engines!"

"So did I!" Tom replied. 

"The sabotage subroutine kicked in… they can't be moving!"

"They must have detected and disabled it before it went off." He paused. "They sent us false readings." 

Kathryn thought quickly. "If they're pursuing us, we can't go to the wormhole, we'll lead them right there."

"No good. They've already matched our course; they can follow it whether or not we reach the wormhole," Paris replied.

Janeway looked up at the ominous Devore warship looming behind them, closing on them. "Damn."

One of the consoles beeped. "Gaharay vessel, respond."

With a sigh, Kathryn opened the comm. link to see the glowering form of Prax. "You will surrender and prepare to be boarded."

Kathryn spoke to Tom without moving her eyes from the screen. "Tom, can we go any faster?"

He shook his head.

"Devore warship, we will not surrender. We want no quarrel with you; end your pursuit immediately," Janeway shot back. The image on the view screen changed suddenly, to reveal Kashyk, with a triumphant smile on his face.

"Captain," he greeted, with no hint of betrayal or even anger in his voice. 

After all his talk, how could he not feel any betrayal? Unless…

_He knew already. How the hell did he know? _She wondered. She nodded her head evenly. "Inspector."

"I have no wish to destroy your vessel, so stop this idiocy at once. Surrender," Kashyk commanded.

"No."

She was still confused. How the hell had Kashyk known?

"I just don't know how you figured it out, Inspector," she said, stalling for time. "Are you sure you aren't a telepath?"

His crew threw him suspicious glances behind him, and he looked insulted. "Not if I could shoot myself, first."

She smiled wryly. "If we could only be so lucky."

Kashyk's good humor returned. "Perhaps this will enlighten you."

The transmission changed, to show Janeway and Paris hovered together in discussion. She recognized Kashyk's office from the detention center.

"_So what is this about?" Paris demanded._

"Exactly what you think it's about," Janeway replied evenly, pointing to the ceiling and cupping her ear.

Paris nodded, and with a different expression on his face, continued, "So you're going to help him find the wormhole. You're going to assist him."

She shook her head as she replied, "Of course I am. It's our only way home, Tom. How else can we cover 15,000 light years so quickly? And we won't be out of here anytime soon. And besides," she hesitated. "I think Kashyk is a man of his word."

Tom barely smothered a laugh even as he accused, "I think you're just blinded by your infatuation for him." 

The images cut off, leaving only Kashyk's taunting face.

Janeway nodded slowly, feeling cold. "So there was a video feed in there. You knew all along."

"Yes, and a brilliant plan it was, if I were not quite so cunning!" Kashyk exclaimed on the view screen. "But, alas, Kathryn, I've outdone you this time. I knew you would lead me right to the telepaths," he leaned closer to the screen, leering. "And entertain me quite handsomely in the meantime."

Janeway swallowed hard. Paris's eyes on Kashyk promised murder.

"So surrender, Kathryn," Kashyk's voice grew softer. "You can't win, and I don't want to destroy you, or wreck that fine vessel in the process. I do enjoy your company, and I have no wish to harm that lovely body of yours." 

Paris nudged her leg, and Kathryn realized that they were approaching the wormhole.

When she did not reply, Kashyk leaned back. "Very well, then. Prax!"

She'd heard him bark that name once, right before he intended to destroy her.

"Open fire upon Janeway's vessel. Destroy it." His expression grew soft again. "I'm truly sorry you made me do this." Then the view screen faded to black.

"Captain," Paris murmured. "The sensors."

"What about them?" Janeway asked woodenly. 

"They anticipated the warp core tampering, but did they think about the sensors? Did they know you tampered with them?" 

Janeway's heart leaped. "Of course, they don't, because we haven't transmitted the false readings yet!" She sat down at the console and began working fervently. "Try to hold them off. I'll tap into their sensor array."

She scanned the sector, feeling the Delta Flyer spark and vibrate around her under the weapons fire. The sensor sweep soon came back with results: there was an asteroid belt around a star not far from the wormhole. Janeway worked quickly.

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"Inspector," Prax called, "The Federation vessel is altering course." Surprise tinged his voice as he noted, "They're heading away from the wormhole!" He turned his fierce eyes on Kashyk. "It must be one of Janeway's tricks."

Kashyk sank into his chair, studying the screen intently. Then, with a smile, he clapped his hands, shaking his head with admiration. "She will never cease to amaze me. Hail her," Kashyk barked.

After a few moments, Janeway appeared on the view screen, eyes hard.

Kashyk smiled at her generously. "Well done, Captain. I must say, I admire your nobility, your sense of purpose. You're sacrificing your own return, hoping we'll follow you-- to lure us away from the wormhole." He leaned in closer. "I can tell you now, it won't work. We already have the wormhole on our sensors, and we can easily find you after we destroy it."

Janeway stiffened. "You're making a mistake, Inspector. You don't want to do this."

Kashyk grinned, and promised, "I'll see you shortly, Captain. Very shortly."

Prax cut off the view screen.

"Where does she think she's going, in the middle of Imperium space?" Kashyk said to no one. Then, to Prax, "Take us to the mouth of the wormhole."

One minute, they were heading to the wormhole, and the next, the ship began to rock violently. Kashyk looked around, alarmed. "Prax, what's going on?"

Prax's brow furrowed. "This is not possible."

"What?"

Prax looked up angrily. "It appears we are being bombarded… by asteroids!"

"Asteroids?" Kashyk demanded, jolting to his feet and racing across the room to check the sensors for himself. "The sensors don't show any—"

He stopped, suddenly sickened with realization.

"Check the sensors for any signs of tampering," Kashyk said slowly.

One of the engineers checked, and then gave a nod, confirming his suspicions.

"We appear to be off course, in a star system two light years from the wormhole," the young soldier provided. "When the sensors adjusted the location of the wormhole, the helm automatically adjusted to compensate."

Kashyk glared at the view screen. "So we were the ones drifting off course, not them! Find their position and lay in an intercept course— maximum speed!"

"Sir, I have a suggestion," Prax spoke. "There are other Devore warships in this area. Perhaps one of them will be able to destroy the wormhole."

"Send them a signal," Kashyk snapped, latching onto any chance he might still have to foil Janeway and redeem himself. He paused, and then added, "And tell them to try to get her alive, if they have the chance."

Prax shot him a disapproving look before following his orders.

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"I think you may just have bought us the time we need!" Paris called to Janeway.

He felt her hand descend swiftly on his shoulder, giving him a hearty squeeze.

"No, Tom, you bought us that time. Brilliant idea."

Paris grinned up at her.

Suddenly, a nearby console shrilled. Janeway checked it, and paled. "There's another Devore warship headed our way." She looked up at the view screen, eyes burning. "We're never going to make it to that wormhole before they make it to us."

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"The Delta Flyer is in sight of Inspector Krav's ship," Prax reported. "Krav claims he will be able to tractor them before they reach the wormhole."

Kashyk slumped down into his chair in relief. "That was a brilliant idea, Prax. I'll have to promote you." 

Prax nodded solemnly. "Very good, sir."

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The Devore warship closed in on them, growing larger and larger on the view screen. Just beyond it sat the flickering light of the doomed wormhole. As the proximity alarms began shrill, Janeway felt her eyes sink closed. They had come so far. They had nearly done it. They could have gone all the way…

How could she and Paris survive any longer as prisoners?

_"Captain!" _the sheer joy and excitement in Paris's voice forced open her eyes. 

The most beautiful thing she'd ever seen emerged from the wormhole—the sleek, smooth, Federation Starship Voyager.

Her view screen flickered to life, and Chakotay's grinning face appeared. "Captain! You're a sight for sore eyes."

Her face broke out into a huge grin, and she felt like kissing the view screen. "Chakotay! How did you—"

"We'll tell you all about it. Right now, we're going to take care of those friends of yours and get you two back here where you belong!"

Janeway felt Paris's excitement beside her, and she laughed out loud. "Be my guest, Chakotay! Be my guest!"

Voyager's weapons sparked across the blackness of space, tearing a clean hole through the Devore vessel. Janeway and Paris assisted with a few shots from the Flyer, and then moved in to take refuge within the larger vessel's embrace.

"The Devore warship is disabled," Paris reported to her. "Voyager's locked us in a tractor beam, and we're moving towards the wormhole." He looked at her, his eyes glowing. "Captain, we're going home."

She leaped over to him, and he enveloped her in a giant bear hug. She couldn't remember feeling this relieved, this secure.

This happy.

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Kashyk and Prax had been grimly monitoring the situation from their ship. When the outcome of the battle between Voyager and the warship became clear, Kashyk retreated to his private study. Prax assumed it was to reflect upon another defeat at the hands of Janeway.

Instead, Kashyk hailed the Delta Flyer, and was greeted by Janeway's triumphant face. "Inspector," the word mocked him, and he gave her a wan smile.

"You created false readings," he said quietly. He paused, and then said, "I never lied to you, Captain. If you'd kept your end of the bargain, I would have kept mine. If you'd ever intended to."

Something softened, just a little, about her expression, and she leaned closer to the view screen. He knew she was moving closer to the wormhole, and that this was probably his last glimpse of her. He ran his gaze over her piercing blue eyes, her stubborn chin, and her lips, which always curled into a smirk.

"For what it's worth," she said softly, "You've made a tempting offer."

The wormhole was going to swallow her signal soon. He couldn't resist adding, "You were thrown back to me once, and perhaps you will be again. Can we agree on this— no hard feelings?"

She leaned back in her chair. "No hard feelings." The grin returned to her face. "After all, _I won. _"

And with a flicker of static, she disappeared forever.

Kashyk was angry the rest of the day. His record now had a failure he could never erase. All because of Janeway.

But when he reached his cabin that night, and found the bed still unmade, he could only lift a bed sheet to his nose and try to capture her scent. And then he didn't have even his anger or bitterness for comfort.

He just felt alone.

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In sickbay, Chakotay couldn't stop grinning at her as the Doctor scanned her for pathogens. Janeway returned his smile at first, then grew confused.

"What is it? Are you really that glad to have me back?" she asked, grinning.

"Yes… but it's more." He reached out and fingered a few strands of her hair. "It's just been a long time since I've seen you with long hair."

Kathryn guffawed. "Well, don't get used to it. You won't see it after today."

"The crew is throwing a party for you two. Come with me?" he asked her.

She smiled. "I don't know if I'm up to it."

"I'm sure you're not up to it," the Doctor cut in merrily. "In fact, both you and Mr. Paris are staying in here another day. For exhaustion, and in his case, malnutrition."

She threw a mock glare at him. Right now, she was too happy to even fake being bad at the Doctor. "Come now, Doctor, is this how you treat crewmembers after they've been gone for…" she stopped, and glanced at Chakotay. "How long has it been, anyway?"

"Forty-seven days."

Janeway gaped at him. "That long?" She peered at him suspiciously. "You knew that number pretty quickly. Have you been keeping track?"

He shrugged. "What can I say? I've enjoyed being Captain of my own Federation starship."

She hit him on the shoulder. "And throwing parties for me without my presence or authorization.." 

Chakotay chuckled. "Under the circumstances, I'm sure we can delay the party until you two get out of here, considering that you're our main attractions."

Janeway laughed, and her gaze began to stray away from him to take in sickbay. "Ah, so now I'm a circus animal—" She stopped when she saw Tom, still sitting on the biobed, leaning over to nestle in B'Elanna's arms. It almost looked as though he was weeping, from Janeway's vantage point. She couldn't see his face. It was tucked against B'Elanna's shoulder.

Kathryn's heart went out to him, and she hoped that he would tell B'Elanna those terrible things he couldn't tell her. Then, he could heal, in body and soul.

And after that, maybe she would, too.

She had to erase the memory of Kashyk. It would take a long time to forget that she nearly gave her heart to a murderer.

Or maybe she did.

"Kathryn?" Chakotay asked gently, touching her shoulder.

She looked at him. "Hmm?"

"You looked a million light years away," he told her.

"No," she murmured. "Just 15,000."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her.

She smiled. "Maybe… someday. Not yet, though."

Chakotay nodded. "Well, then, I think I'll just let you get some sleep."

He turned and started to leave, but Kathryn reached out and grabbed his hand. This was Chakotay—gentle, sweet Chakotay… always so honest, never devious.

"Don't leave me… please. Just not tonight."

He smiled, and his eyes held warmth her heart gladdened to see.

"I'll be here by your side, Kathryn. Always." He pulled up a chair next to her biobed.

As she neared sleep, he was still by her side. And the warm satisfaction she felt when she finally drifted off had nothing to do with Kashyk.


End file.
